A love less ordinairy
by Sally the Simpleton
Summary: Hermione has a secret. So do the Weasleys. Why does Hermione always find herself in dangerous situations? A love story about two persons who are made for each other so much they are interdependent without even knowing it.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclamer: nothing's mine.**

Author's Note: contains violence.

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The baby was hiccupping. By every hiccup, the body of the young mother-to-be startled. The baby had been keeping her awake for hours now. Next to her, Alexander was snoring loudly, mumbling sometimes in his sleep. This annoyed Jane inconsiderably.

But almost everything annoyed Jane. She was nervious and sensitve. She had the feeling that her skin was an electrical fence that gave her a tiny shock each time some one touched her.

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Jane Potter and Alexander Granger married young. They had met aged 16 during summer, and fell immediately in love. Jane being a witch in a boarding school didn't seem to bother Alexander, so they continued their relations trough owl post. After Christmas holidays, when she came back to school, she had a wonderful engagement band around her left hand.

They married just after they graduated, in July, on Jane's birthday.

Of course, their parents – especially Jane's - weren't happy at all about the whole situation. It went too fast to such an important thing in life. During an especially big row, Jane banned herself from the Potter family tree.

Jane's older brother, James Potter, had tried to prevent this from happening. He had argued against his parents, saying that during the reign of terror of Voldemort, it would be better for them to marry. Himself had married quite young- aged 19, just as Lily Evans-Potter, his wife.

James was also the only one to see how unbalanced Jane was. She had been very shy before she met Alexander. So shy infact, that she never could take contact with the people around her. James had to admit that often he thought himself as an only child; Jane always hid herself away. He never really believed that Sirius- who practically lived by the Potters- ever noticed her existence. They hadn't even been in Hogwarts at the same time. He often just forgot her, just like everybody else did. She was an unwanted child from the beginning of her life.

Even after Jane's self-banning, the Potters were untreatable. Finally, James organized everything. He didn't think it was the best idea in the world, but if Julia was ready to trade her family against this man, then James will give her his blessings.

Alexander's parents were easier to convince. It was more the fact that Jane was a witch that disturbed them, not the age. But there again, Alexander's brother Nicolas, helped the young couple, and finally, Alexander's parents accepted the wedding.

Even if the bride's parents were absent, and that she was lend to the altar by her brother, the ceremony was perfect; a real fairy-tale wedding. It had to be made the muggle way, but it didn't disturb Jane much. Contrary to James, Jane never had many friends. In fact, she didn't have any friends at all. The best man was Alexander's older brother, and the bride's maid was his wife, Viveca.

The beginning of their married life had been wonderful. A real "happily ever after". Some eight months after, on Valentines Day, Jane announced she was pregnant. In her second month. The joy was big to the Granger family, especially since Viveca was unable to have children. James and Lily Potter were ecstatic too, since Lily was also pregnant.

But slowly, the perfect couple started to have problems. The fairy tale didn't seem to be so wonderful after all.

The esastic father suddenly got worried about how carried away the mother-to-be was.

"- You are just interested of the baby!" he always screamed at Jane.

"- Of course I am! It's growing in me. It more interesting then you"

"- I am interesting!"

"- Oh yeah? Well prove it then!"

Alexander stomped to their bedroom and opened the drawer of the night table and took out a gun.

"- I go to a club I subscribed into when I knew about your pregnancy. I learn to shoot, just to able to protect you and our child if some day we need it."

Jane had first admired the weapon with her eyes. It was a 20 millimetre Belgian FN pistol. It was a quite usual weapon, but it gleamed and reflected the light mysteriously, suggesting its power.

Alexander took Jane's hand and placed the weapon in it. She felt its weight. At exactly the same moment, the baby kicked the very first time. Maybe it felt the pistol's power, to prove that without it, that gun wouldn't be there.

Jane slowly nodded her head whilst holding eye contact with Alexander.

"- I understand."

It wasn't often they understood each other. Not at least lately.

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Since that moment, the baby kicked all the time, just as if it wanted to remember everyone that it existed somewhere there inside, and that it would come out one day.

Jane found this wonderful. She often passed her arms around her big belly, and caressed it fondly.

"- The baby is a fighter. Do you feel how it's kicking? Yes my babe, you're going to be a great fighter, someone who will always hold his head up."

"- No, if it's a boy, he's going to play soccer, and if it's a girl, she'll be annoying."

As this speech, Jane tightened her arms around her belly. She looked at the baby and whispered to it "You're a fighter. Fight for peace or against animal testing, fight for what you want, you're strong."

When Alexander wasn't home, sometimes she sneaked to James' or to her parent's house (who softened when their heard about the baby) to read old forgotten encyclopaedias. She searched names for her child, and sometimes, even years after, someone would find pieces of paper and parchment with bizarre names like 'Eugenia or 'Ylermi'.

Once, Alexander asked her why she was searching such bizarre names. As she explained him that se searched the perfect name for their child, he only laughed.

"- Jane love, who would already call his own child Persephonia? No, no, if it's a girl, then her name will be Lauren and if its boy, he'll be Philippe."

This had been the start of Jane's sour mood towards Alexander. They had have fights before, but now, Jane locked herself in a persisted and stubborn silence. She only answered with grunts to Alexander's questions. He assumed it had something to do with the pregnancy and left her alone.

If Jane didn't talk to Alexander, she talked to herself all the time, and often, she whispered her secrets and fairy tales to her awaited child.

" Alexander's not a bad person. He's just weak. He really fell in love with me, but getting married was like a game for him, a pretend game. He pretended to get married, now he plays at pretending to be a truthful, married man. He's beyond mediocre. He wants to doom you child, my child. Giving your own child a usual name gives it an already reduced future. I want you child to be free, and to have an unusual fate."

These were the thoughts she had in her head, even now, at five a.m. in the morning, with her baby hiccupping and keeping her awake.

Suddenly, a sudden thought crossed through her mind. She stood up, and opened the drawer where Alexander's gun was.

She held the weapon in her hand. She felt its weight and its power again. She walked towards the bed where Alexander was still sleeping.

Jane bent down and kissed his cheek, Alexander smiled in his sleep and made a low purring noise, without even waking up.

"- Alexander I love you. You bought this weapon to protect me and my child. That's what I have to do, my beloved one. Remember Alexander, I only do this for us, and our child, and because I love you."

She put the end of the pistol's canon against his temple and closed her eyes. She shot until there was no ammunition anymore.

Jane looked at the bloody walls. As the sun started to rise, she took the telephone and dialled the police's number.

"- Hello? Is this the police station? Yes? Could you come please, I just killed my husband."

She gave them the address, wished them a good day and hang the phone. She sat down on the bed and waited.

She passed her arms around her belly, and felt how the baby kicked even more then before. Maybe she didn't kick; maybe she tried to run away. Or maybe she tried to come to the world, where she belonged.

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Author's Note: Lala! This is a rand new, strange story! I won't tell you the pairing yet... Because this is, as the name shows it, a love story.

Reviews please!

Sally!


	2. Bye Bye Baby

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Author's Note: SPRING IS HERE! I just love spring? Who cannot love the sun and the fresh air? (My grumpy housemates obviously). 

A new chapter is going to get posted for both stories.

I'm very sorry I haven't answered to one single lovely review I rcieved for this story; I have an excuse though, I didn't have the net for two months.

I love all of you for reviewing. It makes me feel all warm and happy inside... Please continue on rewieving and reading!

(Answers to various questions are at the end of the chapte.)

I would need a beta. Anyone is welcome. -

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As the police came, they were greeted by a late teenager pregnant to the eyes. She held the gun she had shot her husband in her hand, letting it dangle carelessly on her side. They briefly wondered whether they should bring her to the hospital or to the police station.

"- To the hospital? But I'm not sick."

The policemen watched the bloody walls of the bedroom behind them and exchanged knowing glances. All the murderers said the same things. They also knew murderers are better to be treated lightly and friendly. Well, as long as they still had a weapon in their hand.

"- You are pregnant." The oldest policeman said carefully.

"- I'm pregnant, not sick. And I'm not due to another month. Now, bring me to the police station."

She said it as if it was her right. The policemen nodded gently. Jane took the gun and threw it behind her. It bounced on Alexander's arm and landed on his hand. It looked like he had killed himself.

But thanks to the testimony of the policemen and neighbours who had been alerted by the noise, they sentenced her to a lifetime of prison.

Her trial one of the most absurd trials the court had ever to solve. It was undeniable that Mrs. Jane Granger had murdered her husband. Yet the reasons- completely clear, at least to Jane- intrigued everyone very much.

The judge had been near a nervous breakdown. The judge, an elder woman with a husband and three children, had to almost literally rip the words out from the accused girl.

"- Mrs. Granger, why did you kill your husband?"

"- He was a danger for our child."

"- Did he threaten it?

"- Yes.

"-You had to tell us that straight away! How did he threaten your unborn baby? Did he want an abortion? "

"- No. It's worse than that; he wanted to call our child Lauren or Philippe."

This left the people around her perplexed.

"- Missis Granger, did you murder your husband because you didn't like the names he chooses for your offspring?"

Jane nodded. She tried to explain her fate-name theory, but quickly enough she stopped. Everyone just thought she was crazy. They didn't understand how important a name was. It seemed to her very oblivious. The power of a name should never be under estimated.

She wasn't imprisoned in Azkaban, because banning yourself from your family was in the wizarding world as to ban itself from it. Jane did some magic, but to the magic registration, she didn't exist anymore.

A nurse came every day to Jane's cell to check her pregnancy progress. Every time her parents of brother wanted to meet her, she dismissed them. She only wanted to see her little godson Harry, when Lily bought him.

The other person she tolerated was Vivica, her sister-in-law. Vivica couldn't have children, and understood Jane's deep joy. Often Jane pretended not to see as Viveca cried seeing her big belly. Vivica thought Jane looked so pretty, so small, with her enormous belly.

On September the nineteenth, nine in the morning, she gave birth to a little girl. It was a big baby- it weighted 4,5 kilos.

Jane was radiant mother. Never anyone had seen such a happy mother. She couldn't stop cradling her tiny daughter. Se whispered small nothings to it. She said to her all the time how beautiful she was.

"- You are beautiful, my little treasure."

As the midwifes and the paediatrician asked her if she had already chosen a name for her child, Jane nodded.

"- Hermione."

"- Excuse me?"

"- I want to call my child Hermione."

"- Does really such a name exist?"

"- I know there is a holy Hermione. I don't know what she had done, but the name exists. See in Shakespeare's 'A Winter's Tale' or in the Greek mythology. I want her to be special."

"- You can be called Julie and be very special."

"- But Julie isn't a name who protect you."

"- It wouldn't protect her! Every one will laugh at her!"

"- Hermione comes also from old German. It means warrior. She'll fight those who'll make fun of her. "

"- But to give such a name for your child! It's very selfish of you, you know!"

"- Listen, I have no rights what so ever anymore. The only right I still have is to give my child a name."

"- But she'll have enough things to deal with already now!"

"- Are you saying that I'm an obstacle for my child?"

"- Well yes, among other things.

"- Don't you worry, I won't be a burden to her."

She filled all the papers and baptised the child. After she was completely sure her daughter's name was now officially Hermione, she kissed her daughter a last time.

The same night, she made a rope out of her bed sheets and hung herself. She didn't leave a letter- or even a note! - for the noble reason that she didn't like to write. Her baby's name was her testament, the name she so insisted on.

The next day, the guards of the prison lifted away the light corpse from the cell.

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The funeral was short and very intimate in a way. Lily, James, Viveca and Alexander were close to each other, shoulders touching, hands joined. The both babies were held by James. They both drank the sight of the coffin. The autumn weather was warm that day, but the sun was hidden, and it meant something maybe in a way.

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James, Lily and Harry Potter as well as Nicolas and Viveca Granger came to the testimony of the now dead couple, and to know what will happen with small baby Hermione. 

After much discussion, the Potters and the Grangers came to the solution of adoption. The Grangers were going to adopt the child officially, but they also signed a magical pact with the Potters. The Potters took Hermione under their wing. The uncle loved his niece, and baby Harry seemed to like his cousin very much as well.

Both couple went and picked up the baby from the muggle prison she had been living in the first week of her existence.

Every one in the hospital was happy to see that baby go with her horrible past- and she was barely a month old. Everyone was happy to see the baby go.

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Author's Answers: 

Rapunzel 34: Tada! new Chapter!

Simple Tirade d'aujourd'hui: Whaaa merci pr ta review! Hihi sa me rends tte heureuse! (mrd, on diré un écureil ss medocs)

Sexy - Jess: WHAAAA! Sorry I haven't updated! I loved your review! i know it sounded quite funny the whole "-Killed-my-husband"-bit. hih

Lunar Neko-Chan: Thank you thank you thank you!


	3. Happy Families

**Author's Note:** Yaay! Another Chapter! Weall dance in rejoyce and REVIEW as well! mmh?

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The Potters and Grangers held very close contact. Not only because of the children, but also because both couples were worried about each other.

Nicolas and Viveca – two muggle dentists- felt very concerned about the terrible war raging in the wizarding world. They tried to help where they could – providing hideouts and medical help for the Order of the Phoenix.

James Potter was an Auror. He wasn't fully trained yet – he was 23 and the Auror forming takes at least five years. Since he had to hide from Voldemort after his graduation due to the amount of his family in the order, he had lost a year. But like very other Auror-in-Training, he was sent to fight, because the number of Death Eaters only grew, and the Ministry didn't have time to train the Auror as they should be.

In Hogwarts, from fourth year and above, you learned how to defend and attack with very powerful spells and jinxes. Too bad these jinxes that were supposed to prepare the students were often misused by the students themselves. Often strong stupefying spells were used in wizard duelling, which often knocked out people for several months.

Due to the sudden increase of strong magic in school, the power of destruction by the dark wizards increased as well. The use of the three unforgivable curses – Imperio, Crucio and Avera Kedavra- become almost regular and horribly enough – banal. Suddenly, the Auror had the permission to use the unforgivable too, and they didn't stop themselves from using them. The new motto was 'First kill, then ask questions'.

Many innocent people were sent to Azkaban without a trial. Auror were sometimes Death Eaters in disguise, and vice versa. In the end, Voldemort had to mark his own army, in attempt to recognize it. Of course, some people were spying Voldemort. And some people were spies in the Order of the Phoenix.

The ministry wasn't safe anymore. It was so corrupted it was a miracle it didn't rot away. The only reliable organisation was the Order, but it was also Voldemort's main target. The list of people dying increased by every day. No one was safe anywhere in the wizarding world.

Not even Hogwarts.

James was very concerned about Lily and his son, Harry. He- and Lily- had both managed to escape from Voldemort three times; Once in their seventh year, during a surprise attack in Hogsmeade, once during a date between them, and finally on their wedding day. Every time, they survived by pure luck.

They went into hiding, disappearing from the wizarding world as their son Harry was born. The only contact to their world was Sirius Black, their Secret Keeper, and Dumbledore. The Grangers helped them as much as they could.

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They lived in the same small village. Roughly a month after Hermione's arrival, the Grangers had arranged a small Halloween party, in attempt to make everyone forget a bit about the war. Hermione was still a tiny little baby, and Harry wasn't much bigger. The Halloween party had been the first time they Potters had been in contact with some else than the Muggles or Sirius or Dumbledore.

The party had been success. Every one had been joyful and the babies had been the stars of the grand evening. The friendship between the families became closer, and so, the Grangers and Potters were very often going out together, all six of them.

Their life was a safe haven. They received distant news from the war, not really caring about it, too immersed with their children. When wounded Aurors or soldiers came to seek refuge, they metamorphosed them selves into strict people who just talked business. But the war was far away, and non-existent somehow.

They held more and more often small parties, using their babies as excuses to have come-togethers. The Grangers were as much part in the Marauders as Lily was. They formed a tight knitted group of people.

The Grangers were fascinated by the Wizards and witches and by magic? They loved the magical culture very much, and always were equally curious about everyone. Peter Pettigrew, who always had been overlooked, was now as much in the light as the others; sometimes even more because he had some muggle relatives.

This later saved their lives. Peter had never talked to Voldemort about the Grangers. And he hoped he never had to put them in danger. Because Hermione somehow managed to sooth his nerves, whereas Harry often made him anxious and nervous.

Hermione was an odd baby.

All babies are born with blue eyes, but Hermione had dark, dark blue eyes, that seemed to force your attention. Maybe she was trying to say her own way that all the people's fate was to love her. She always looked people straight into the eyes and she showed the people that a love story between her and them was about to begin and there was a reason to be touched and amazed.

"- I might be only eight months old but it doesn't stop me from being something remarkable! Observe me! I am amazing! If you knew! If only you knew!"

She grew up slowly, as slowly as she ate. The slowness with which she drank her milk bottle was mesmerizing. Harry literally devoured his food, growing very quickly and was in a constant need of new clothing.

Especially Lily and Viveca were good friends as only mothers can be. They were even so obsessed with their children growing up together as siblings; they even purchased a special 'two-baby' push chair. The children were almost all the time together, only separated at night. And even then, sometimes, when Harry's teeth started to grow or when Hermione had flu, the parents put the babies together.

Hermione was a wonderful thing to make Harry stop crying. It seemed she was dipped in something similar to catnip, only it was more like 'Harrynip' often James or Sirius would say.

The seasons passed, happy as ever, punctuated by cheery parties and friendly gatherings. People dropped like flies, anonymous numbers in the newspapers. The Potters tried, and managed quite successfully at that, forget the war.

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The Grangers decided to hold another Halloween party that year. It was settled to be done early in the evening. The autumn had come early that year, and it was very dark outside

Hermione had been restless during the whole day, often screaming for no apparent reason. First Nicholas assumed it was just the beginning of her growing teeth that made her mad. But no teeth were apparent, and the more time passed, the crankier Hermione was.

Lily passed by with Harry, helping Viveca to prepare different kinds of foods for the little gathering they were planning to hold. James and Nicholas were outside decorating the garden with twigs and early Christmas lights.

Harry seemed somehow restless as well. Hermione suddenly started screaming, kicking the air with her feet. Both parents ran to her and wondered what was wrong. Nothing made her stop whining. Hermione seemed to become loudly by each passing hour. As the sun had finally disappeared from the sky, the baby screamed so loudly, that the Grangers decided to bring her to the hospital.

The Potters wondered whether to go with them. But Sirius was coming to join them the same evening and by the time an owl will reach him, he would have already left. So the Potters decided to wait for Sirius before joining the Grangers at the hospital.

The same night, the Potters died, Voldemort disappeared, and Harry became the Boy-Who-Lived.

The one reason Dumbledore was so secretive about what happened that Halloween Harry Potter became world wide known, was the simple and mere fact of Hermione's existence.

Why Dumbledore wanted to keep Hermione a secret was unknown.

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The death of the Potters was a big punch of fate to the Grangers. They tried- by any mean possible- to adopt Harry. They were the closest relatives, their papers were in order, they had a regular amount of money coming and they already had adopted his cousin. But Dumbledore was untreatable, and only told them that the blood-bond between Harry and Hermione wasn't strong enough to protect him..

Against the Granger's will, Harry went to live at the Durselys. The Grangers tried to gain contact to Harry, but were quickly enough threaten by Vernon Dursley.

All this had put Viveca into a deep depression, and Nicolas decided to move away from England with his wife and daughter to forget everything. Only he knew it couldn't be possible, that the last three months of his life were now impregnated in his mind, and would never leave him. Maybe someday his memory will fail him, but he will never forget anything about what happened.

Dumbledore hadn't seen the abuse of the Durleys on Harry coming, and was ashamed that he didn't give Harry to the Grangers back then. This was the big secret Dumbledore kept from Harry – and Hermione

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REVIEW PLEASE! 


	4. Mon étrange Petit Bébé

**Author's Note: **Yes! Another chapter of this story is being posted today. Hurray!

Thank you Dani for your kind review. This chapter is dedicated to you.

For the rest of you… Pleassse read and review! (btw, don't you think 's' is a Smashing Sound?)

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Chapter Four: Mon étrange petit Bébé (My strange little baby)

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They lived five years in France. Viveca retrieved her health rapidly. Soon enough, she looked like before, but her eyes were a bit misty, and sometimes, late at night, she cried silently. She cried reminiscing Jane and Alexander, then Lily and James, the loss of Harry and she cried the most watching her little girl sleep.

Because Hermione was her daughter. Maybe she didn't give birth to her, but Hermione _was_ her daughter. Jane had given Hermione to her. The symbolism of the suicide, leaving a small, innocent and pure child after oneself, could only show that the fate had decided that Viveca was to be Hermione's mother.

Viveca had always wished so dearly for a child. As she had seen Jane pregnant, she had often cried of jealousy. How she had wished to be Jane then! How she wished to have that enormous belly. How she had sometimes whished in the darkest place inside of her that Jane would die and leave her Hermione. Obviously her wish had been granted.

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Hermione was the sunshine to Nicolas and Viveca Granger. She was a perfect little girl, almost never crying, often giggling, and looked adorable in the small princess dresses her parents bought her. She wore always pink, blue or yellow, gentle pastel colours to make her beautiful.

In summer, under her curly dark brown hair, which lighted up in the sun, she looked like a life-sized doll. Often people stopped walking and stared at Hermione, often whispering comments about her beauty to each other. Even later, when she grew up, and wasn't as pleasant to look at, she still held this strange aura of unconscious flirt-ness small girls are surrounded by.

As odd as it might sound, Viveca would have preferred to have an ugly child. Her daughter was everything a parent could ever wish for; it wasn't natural; perfection wasn't human. Too many blessings were placed upon Hermione; this meant she'll be cursed as well.

No parent wanted its child to be cursed; Viveca felt often anxious. What will happen to her baby?

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The only thing buggering Nicolas and Viveca was Hermione's name. In the beginning, they didn't even think of changing her name, but after a while, when people started to question the origin of such an unusual name, it became a dilemma.

Viveca wanted to rename her.

"- We could call her Lucia. It such a beautiful name. Lucia, the light of our life. A fairy tale name to a fairy tale child."

But Hermione had her official name – Hermione Jane Granger (Jane didn't want 'Potter' in it marked everywhere in her papers). But renaming Hermione was pointless; she refused to be called anything else. She only reacted when called Hermione.

But every time Viveca presented her daughter, she felt a very painful wrench somewhere inside her. The woman, who gave birth to this child, just leaved her daughter's name as last note before killing herself.

Also Hermione's name reminded Viveca that fate gave her this child, but fate was whimsical, and Viveca knew it; her daughter could be taken almost at every moment.

Her dark, macabre wish of receiving Hermione had become true. But in return, fate had stolen Jane, Alexander, Lily, James and driven Harry away. But with all the joy Hermione was bringing, Viveca had the dark feeling that it was only the beginning.

But as long as she had Hermione, fate could do whatever it wanted; Hermione's smile would always save her day.

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Nicolas saw everything differently. Nicolas had cared for Alexander a lot. They were only two sons in a family of five children. Nicolas three sisters were all three very gifted women, one in sports, another in chemistry, and the third one in mathematics, and sometimes their parents forget their sons.

Alexander had suffered from this, and Nicolas, the second eldest child always was with him, the second youngest one. His caring brother love had transferred from Alexander to Hermione. He only thought it was a good thing that Hermione had such an unusual name. He loved his wife dearly, but the love shared with Hermione was stronger then any other love: the mix of fatherly and brotherly love.

Nicolas was more a big brother to Hermione then a real father. Without really noticing it, he projected and tried to reflect Alexander's manners in Hermione. And somewhere, Hermione responded to this echo, a distant voice inside of her telling her it was a good thing.

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Hermione was a strange child. She had oddest vocabulary a three year old baby could have; her parents sometimes wondered where she had them from. She said odd words like "blood", "violence", "death", "red" and even long complicated ones like "strangulation" or "homicide".

When Hermione was sent the first time to the kindergarten, she had to come home only a couple of hours later. The nanny had phoned, her voice strangely low, and asked humbly if Viveca could come and take her child.

Thinking something horrible had happened to her daughter, Viveca had rushed away, planning on phoning her husband as soon as she was back from the nursery. She wondered where the closest hospital was.

Bursting in to the kindergarten, she was immediately relieved to see a nanny holding her apparently intact daughter in her arms. Viveca, half-wondering, half-panicking, questioned the keeper.

"- What's the matter is she hurt? (the keeper shook her head) Is she too young? I know she's barely four years old…"

"- Oh no! I've got younger children then her here. It's a bit embarrassing really. It's nothing dangerous, mind you. It's… well… err… it's her eyes. Well not so much her eyes, it's more her stare. "

"- Eyes-…? Stare? (heavy silence) I don't really follow you here…"

"- Sh- She stares at the other children until they burst into tears. After I called her to order she started to stare at me, and I have to admit I felt very uncomfortable…"

Nodding dumbly, happy at the fact that she will have to give up her part-time job to be with Hermione, Viveca took her child in the arms and walked away, head held up high from the kindergarten. In the car, she installed carefully Hermione on the backseat and rove towards their flat, laughing and shaking her head at the story.

Astonished and mocking, Viveca told this particular story to her husband. She kept telling the story to everyone, and no one had ever heard something like that before. Nicolas was ecstatic. He was old enough to remember how Alexander behaved as a child- half of the times adorable, the other half insupportable. In other words a totally normal baby child.

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How could it be Hermione was so special? Nicolas was wishing dearly inside of him that Hermione would be a witch; actually, he felt it, he saw it in her eyes. She was pure magic, a magic that had been somehow created under the last hours of he being in her mother's stomach.

Nicolas had read all kind of articles in secret where it's written that baby children could be potential witnesses of crimes _in utero_. It's proven that babies heard its parents through the mother's stomach. Hermione had surely heard the shots of the gun exploding her biological father's brains.

He had shivered at this thought; her mother Jane had been a murderer; was Hermione as well programmed to kill? The blood in her veins, does it contain the adrenaline and murderous rushes of her real mother?

He hoped not; yet he wished somehow Hermione did. At least he would know his baby girl wasn't unprepared in this cruel world. She was a natural born fighter; her name already warned you.

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Nicolas and James had been quite good mates. Often James talked about his sister-in-law, Jane. She had been an angry, unbalanced child, which had often been sick. He confined to Nicolas that he had often had been seriously worried about her mental health.

Sometimes, Jane had been extremely angry for nothing, and threw things at people. Other times, she was extremely depressed, and could be days, even weeks, without muttering a word. She faded sometimes completely from the world, just to come alive with a particular strong epileptic attack. But James would have never guessed that she would have murdered her own husband.

So, naturally, Nicolas wondered from whom Hermione had her special-ness. Unconsciously, he had perfectly understood Jane, and, helped the fate to guide Hermione to her unusual destiny.

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**Post Author's Note:**

The whole romance action will start around chapter five and six; until then, this fic is very Hermione concentrated. But no worries, soon enough there will be love every where…

Btw, you think that I should post this fic somewhere else?


	5. First Day of School

**Author's Note:**

THANK YOU! Thank you for all your lovely reviews! I feel so happy someone likes it!

KrazieChikadee : Oh ! I'm sorry if my post author's note brings you back to reality ;) I'll try to avoid them from now on! And yes- this evening there's going to be two new chapters!

Kiwifruit03: Thanks for your review:)

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Hermione was a bit over five as they moved back to England. Viveca wanted Hermione to begin school aged five like every other little English girl. To come back to England had been rough for both of them – especially for Nicolas.

They decided to live in London, far, far away from the little village they had spent many joyful months with the Potters. They both decided to never talk nor mention the Potters, or as little as they could, but both knew, that the other one was sometimes thinking of them.

Also, Hermione started to get a bit stranger. Strange things happened around her.

Hermione liked her grandfather from her father's side a lot. He was quite old and Hermione's granny had died when she was three years old. The old man was still very cheery, and loved his only grandchild a lot. He often had rows with her parents late at night, reproaching them that they didn't tell Hermione the truth about her origin.

"- It would only be more difficult when she's older. Tell her now, so she has time to assimilate the information! You're not being honest with her!"

But neither Viveca, nor Nicolas had enough strength to talk to Hermione. So years passed by-and Hermione remained ignorant.

This roused an odd, unquenchable thirst for knowledge in Hermione. It seemed to her something very essential was missing in her life. She couldn't pinpoint it. Maybe, just maybe, it was her. Her smile, her eyes. They were different from those of her parents. Yet they weren't. they all pretended she looked like Viveca's sister. A phantom sister whose name was Lily, but there was no pictures of her young. Only as a grown-up.

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The first day at school to Hermione was a turn-by in her life. She had been all excited about going to school – packing and un-packing her new (pink) school bag and forcing her mum to iron her uniform many times to be sure it was perfect. She had admired her news pencils and crayons without daring to use them.

She was restless for a reason unknown. She couldn't sleep. Hermione tossed and turned in her bed, not understanding why she wasn't tired.

Her eyes closed all by themselves them. She decided to play an imaginary game in her head. It was an odd game; she imagined things in her, she created scenes and places that would be suddenly destroyed by an explosion. She dreamed of magic.

She wondered sometimes if she normal. Yet she was only five years old, and those kinds of questions weren't meant for her. So she decided to close her eyes and drift off to sleep.

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The following day Hermione woke up with a startle, wondering where she was. Her mother ran to her room, glad to see her daughter already awake.

"- Here, Hermione, your uniform. Get dressed now, breakfast is waiting, chop chop!"

Hermione got out of bed and quickly put on her little plaited skirt and shirt. She hadn't watched out when she had buttoned up her shirt, thus having all the buttons in the wrong openings. Her shirt was buttoned in a way the French say is 'en menteuse' meaning 'the lying way'. How truly odd it was; those buttons decided a part of Hermione's destiny that morning.

Only her buttons made her tell the truth; not lies.

Her parents rushed with Hermione to school, her father feeling apprehensive to let her daughter go. She was so young after all. Yet he comforted himself by saying to himself that Hermione would be okay; she was a fighter after all.

So it was rather an odd picture teachers saw that morning. The parents were crying to let their daughter go, whilst the little girl was bouncing away happily towards the school entrance.

Soon enough the teachers noticed how different from others Hermione was. She had the misfortune to be in Miss Worthbeck's class. Miss Worthbeck was an old spinster and was convinced that pupils didn't learn anything without much work, even more homework and hard discipline. Yet what made this all worse was that she had the horrible tendency of having favourites in her classes.

Hermione definitely did NOT belong to the group of those Miss Worthbeck preferred. It was surely due to the fact that Hermione had been trying to watch at the girl behind her (they were placed in alphabetical order). The teacher had to call her name three times before she reacted. Hermione hadn't even apologized, an unforgivable offence in Miss Worthbeck's eyes.

Yet Miss Worthbeck could hate Hermione with all her might, it didn't bother Hermione. She was good in school, due to her obsessed search after knowledge. Hermione could whisper and giggle during class, yet she could answer each and every question her teacher asked her. This made Miss Worthbeck even madder at her. How dared Hermione be a genius!

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School was a big disappointment for Hermione. It wasn't the magical place she had expected it to be. Yet, there was one good thing there. Yes, one fine thing indeed.

There was a dark skinned girl in her class, a girl called Candice, who had broke her arm that summer. She had a big, white cocoon around her arm. It was perfectly white, in stark contrast with her beautiful brown skin. The girl herself was shy and had problems carrying her bag. She wasn't very popular; most of the children knew each other from before and this girl didn't see to be in the class favourites. No one had even signed her plaster cast.

When Hermione had seen that broken arm, she had felt the oddest of feelings. There had been something akin a bright red flash in front of her and her whole body had felt attracted to the girl. Her heart had pounded fiercely, so hard and quickly she had felt it in her head, a strong steady rhythm, something that sounded like a drum. Maybe it was with this kind of heart pulsation the African magicians could do magic on their drums.

Hermione had walked steadily to the girl with big, ready steps. She had stopped just in front of Candice, smiling widely, talking with a loud and clear voice: "- Hello! I am Hermione Granger!"

The other girl had smiled back, happy to have woken up someone's interest. Hermione was taller than most of the little girls, her legs steadily on the ground, a battle ready position. Her voice had attracted a bit of interest, many wondering who the girl with the odd name was. She reminded Candice of a lion, with her thick hair like a mane around her head.

"- I am Candice."

"- Pleased to meet you."

Both girl shook hands, Hermione felt warmth from the fingers creeping up to her arms, and she smiled an oddly fierce smile, her blue eyes turning slightly golden. Candice was more impressed than scared.

When they had go back to class, Miss Worthbeck asked them to write and draw a family tree. They all dispersed in small groups of six, four, three or two. Hermione sat down next to Candice, who was trying her best to draw with one hand. Her crayons were on the table, untouched. Hermione just couldn't bring herself to draw and she had no idea why.

Miss Worthbeck's stare was hot against the back of her head. Hermione didn't want to get in trouble, so she started drawing slowly her family.

First she drew her father, trying to make him as real as possible. She carefully draw his hair and put him in one of his working dentistry coats but he had his fluffy bunny slippers on, slippers Hermione had given him. Then she drew her mother, smiling in a dress. Then she drew her grandfather, all in details and then she drew her aunts. It was difficult to say which one was who, yet there they were.

At this point her paper was quite full, yet when she took a sneak peak at Candice's drawing, she saw that Candice's paper was maybe three times fuller than hers. So slowly Hermione took out a bright red crayon, and felt something akin to a static shock. A red flash, a rather small one this time, traversed her form side to side.

Her heart pounded as she drew her long lost 'aunt' Lily. Between all the people on the paper, Lily was the best drawn, her face and eyes oddly true.

Candice bend down and gasped as she saw the picture.

"- Oh! How lovely!"

"- Thank you."

Hermione had neatly written under each person their names, expect for her aunts where she had an arrow pointed at each of them with 'Auntie' marked on them. Yet there was an anonym girl on the paper: Lily. Hermione had decided to draw wings to Lily because she was an angel in the sky now.

Hermione was so absorbed writing Lily's name underneath the winged figure that she didn't feel Miss Worthbeck's steps in her back.

"- Miss Granger, I see you are finished! May I show this picture to the class?"

Yet before Hermione had to protest, Miss Worthbeck was waving the picture in the air, thus getting the whole class attention.

"- Here is your friend Hermione Granger's…. Masterpiece! Present it to us!"

Hermione had to stand up against her will. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence in the class.

"- This is a picture of my family. This is my father. He's name is Nicholas Granger, and this is my mum Viveca. This is grandda and these are my four aunts. One of them is dead."

"- How did she die?"

"- She was murdered."

Miss Worthbeck put her hand on her mouth and her fellow classmates watched Hermione with round eyes. A murdered aunt! How exciting!

Hermione had no idea from why those words had tumbled down her lips; it just seemed the right thing to say. It was as if it was a thing she always known. Her heart beat a bit quicker in her ribcage, sign of her coming a bit closer to the truth. When Hermione watched down and started inspecting her shoes, she didn't realize that her buttons were now correctly buttoned.


	6. Trying to Pick on me, eh?

**Author's Note : **

YES ! Two chapters in ONE night! Of course, now you have to review twice more! Since the chapters 5 was quite long, this one would be shorter.

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Hermione soon realized she always received a odd shock and saw red flashing lights when she encountered some sign of violence, or heard about nasty, horrible, blood-filled things. These shocks were similar to static shocks, only more powerful and it left her skin sensitive to the touch.

She had been right about Candice: she wasn't popular. She wasn't popular at _all_. Her father was the school cook, thus having the opportunity to put his children in a private school. Candice had one little brother and one little sister but no mother. Her mother had left the family. The little girls in the school had heard their mothers gossiping about Candice father, thus making her the laughing stock of the school.

But Hermione hadn't heard the rumours; and even after she had heard them, she still was with Candice all the time. She was lucid enough to realize that as soon as Candice would have a friend, they'll find some else to laugh at.

Hermione had been their following victim. Well, supposedly victim. Their victim had very quickly turned into _their_ tormentor.

Her classmates had noticed how Hermione paid special care to her crayons and other writing ustensiles. So they took the nasty habit of stealing her stuff when she was on recess outside with Candice. First they stole and gave back, and then they stole and broke her things.

After two week of bullying, Hermione's magic kicked in. When she saw that they had broken all her precious crayons, her blue-brown eyes turned red and golden, and her hair became electric. Yet she waited for recess. She was so angry even the sunny, happy Wednesday had suddenly turned dark and black and rainy. Since it was raining, all of them had to stay in class.

Miss Worthbeck went every break to the teacher's lounge to have some tea whilst talking with her colleagues. She knew none of her pupils would dare start havoc in class. Well, no one would dare, expect Hermione maybe. But Miss Worthbeck would have never imagined what kind of chaos Hermione could provoke.

As soon as the door had closed behind Miss Worthbeck, Hermione had asked Candice to go to the bathrooms and fill her thermos-bottle with water. When Hermione was sure Candice was away as well form the class, they all noticed a radical change in Hermione.

They couldn't see her face, yet her back already meant bad news. She turned slowly around, and all of her 'tormentors' started to tremble. Hermione's eyes were now red with hints of brown and her hair was flying around her face, creating a sun around her.

"- So, trying to pick on me?"

Her hand didn't even touch the door, yet they heard a click sound that assumed them the door was locked. The lights in the class started slightly flicker and the neon tubes hummed loudly, sounding like angry bees.

"- I don't think I heard an answer. So, did you really think you could get away with this?"

Some girls, those who have bravest ones, nodded slowly. Yet a girl called Meeta, the 'leader' of the gang, opened her eyes wide and pretended to be innocent. Yet Hermione watched them all in the eyes and then, she suddenly to their great horror floated a bit above the floor. Later on they denied it to ever happen, yet the sight of Hermione floating came always up in their nightmares.

"- Well… Since you all think I'm vulnerable to your words, I am going to show you where my world. In my world, you are all vulnerable to me."

Meeta laughed a horrible little fake laugh.

"- Show it then! We're not afraid, now are we girls?"

Yet the girls who used to be her trustworthy comrades were now almost under their desks, hiding away from the warth that was Hermione.

"- Don't worry, you'll see my kingdom soon enough."

And there suddenly all of them felt a shock similar to a static shock and saw flashes of red where Hermione's figure was visible.

Suddenly all was over, Hermione returning to her feet, hair calmed down, and the door clicked open, letting a red-faced Candice almost fall in.

"- The door was jammed."

"- Yeah, you're right Candice, the door was jammed."

Meeta was just about to say something, but Hermione turned her hair and suddenly her eyes were red again. Everyone shat up and sat on their chairs, not saying a world until Miss Worthbeck came back to class, wondering how her pupils could be so quiet. Especially now, when the sun was shining outside.

The night after this, everyone present in the class had seen nightmares. The nightmares had been odd, almost all the same. The nightmare had been taking place in the school, only it was a dark, horrible version out of it. Snakes and caterpillars were slithering on the floor, whilst spiders were dangling from the ceiling. The walls were black and moist and they knew they had to flee from something, yet this 'something' was impossible to see.

After that, no one ever dared to pick on Hermione. No one even dared to take to her. Hermione became suddenly an outsider in the class, an outsider which had some friend. Often the others, those who didn't know Hermione, thought she was cool with her cold demeanour and odd red-brown eyes.

Ever since she had been so very angry with her schoolmates her hair refused to get tamed correctly. Her hair that used to be curly was now bushy. Yet it didn't bother Hermione; it gave her a way to hide herself form the world.

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School was very dull, repeating itself over and over again, in a boring leitmotiv. Hermione felt like her life was a VCR stuck the repeat button. Days passed one after another, days becoming weeks, weeks months, months to seasons, and seasons to years.

The only thing that broke the dull routine of life was the quick red flashes she felt sometimes as well as the different times Hermione could use her odd talents to terrorize people in their sleep. But aged eleven, just after school ended, Candice's father got a better job. This job was in Dublin however, forcing the whole family to move.

Hermione felt sad yet she had felt the longest red flashes when she hugged Candice good-bye. The same day, as she came home from Candace's house with the bus, an odd man was waiting for her with her parents. That day, Hermione learned she was a witch from the mouth of none other than Arthur Weasly.

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	7. When Mr Weasly Meets his Daughter

**Author's Note: **

Black's Daughter: this chapter is dedicated for you!

Hearts Corruption: interested in being my beta? I totally fancy the idea of a very powerful Hermione. She's my favourite character with Bill (of course).

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**Chapter Seven: How Mr. Weasly Meets his Daughter.**

Mr. Arthur Weasly – or dad (or daddy) he liked to be called- had a tiring, yet very fulfilling day. He had learned the very same morning that his eldest son, his very handsome, talented, witty, proud, wonderful Gryffindor son (yes, - he was a proud father) was Head Boy! He was thrilled, and had been bragging about it for hours at the ministry. Arthur even put a few extra pictures of his son with the flashing Head Boy badge on his desk. He even threw away a stack of papers marked 'important' to make fit the picture.

Arthur had been so proud of his son he didn't one single bit the little extra work he had to do the very same day. He needed the extra money to get a gift to his son. He was slightly wondering what to get him. He walked (more like jumped) happily to the house were unusual magic had been perceived. It wasn't usually his job to talk to muggle parents with magical children, yet he had done it before; it wasn't very difficult. (Mr. Weasly never knew however that he traumatised all the parents by his excited questions about light bulbs and water taps.)

So he skipped up a tiny fling of stairs and knocked on the door. He heard a laugh on the other side of the door and a strong hushing.

"- Hermione, you already home?"

A man opened the door and got slightly startled by Mr. Weasly. Nicholas mind was quickly working. He saw Mr. Weasly's hat, his robe, his torn suitcase and he_ knew _it. He was a wizard. He had that sparkle around him.

" This is about Hermione, isn't it?"

Mr. Weasly nodded. He found this name rather pretty. Viveca walked in, clutching a jar of milk against her chest and prepared herself for the sad face of her daughter. She couldn't have suspected ever, in her life, to see a wizard at their home.

Whilst Nicholas was beaming, Viveca's world was exploding.

Nicholas was seeing Hermione twirling her hands, creating wonderful things under her hands, next to a handsome man. His world was re-creating itself for the first time since his brother's death. Hermione gave him a future through her own. Where magic killed, magic will revive.

Viveca's world was coming down with a strong, rumbling sound. Hermione, her daughter, was going to get killed! Jane, Lily, James, even Alexander, all of them had perished due to magic! And now her daughter would be thrown _into_ that world. She couldn't prevent it from happening, but she wished it would be different. She couldn't help but wondering if this was the downfall of her child.

" Please, do come in. Hermione isn't quite here yet."

Mr. Weasly nodded happily, glad to finally rest his legs. Nicholas dragged Mr. Weasly to their living room, whilst Viveca walked slowly to the kitchen. She heard the men's voices, talking about wizarding politics. She dropped the milk jug she was hugging when she heard that the War had been over for a decade. She almost screamed in joy, and took out the golden-pink china porcelain tea-set.

But when she heard the little scuffing noise her daughter did whilst walking, the noise of the key turning and the little fluffy head peeking sadly out from the door, she had a glorious and yet horrible premonition: she saw her daughter, her eyes hard, her skin tattooed, her hands sparkling magic, and a man stand next to her, a very tall man with long red hair.

Viveca shook her head. She knew Hermione wasn't hers. She was never hers. Yet she wished so; she could always pretend.

"- Hermione, come here. There is a mister who needs to talk to you."

Hermione watched her mum, then watched the tray in her mum's hands and walked into the room, sensing this was important.

Suddenly, seeing the man sitting there and his eyes turned towards her, the red flash invaded her mind so hard, so intensely, that black spots danced in front of her, her breath became more deep, and her heart pounded in her head. The world spun around her. She closed her eyes, and she let the red wave just invade her, soaking her in power. She opened her eyes, and tried to walk to an armchair.

She fainted before she could do that. Instead of falling on the floor however, she floated above the floor, hair caressing the parquet. Mister Weasly applauded, rather impressed. Then he felt a bit bad of course, seeing the little girl's mother shocked beyond belief. Arthur quickly rushed to the girl and shook her gently.

When he touched her forehead to check her temperature, he received a strange shock that made his rather fine hair fly up and dance oddly on his skull. He chuckled, and lifted the girl as if she weighted nothing. He had after all many children of his own, and this girl reminded him very much of his beloved daughter.

"- Ooh! Very good! This is very powerful magic! Impressive really. I come from a long line of wizards and this kind of magic is quite rare. You ought to be proud, Mr and Mrs. Granger."

Arthur sat down on the sofa, gently placing the girl next to him. He observed the young girl, her bushy hair, her translucid skin and wondered then why he felt the strange urge to wake her up. His hand shook gently the girl's shoulder, and her eyes snapped open.

Arthur Weasly hiccupped and almost fell down from the couch. Her eyes were almost red! This meant one thing and one thing only to Mr Weasly- she was a born Gryffindor! The idea of her being somehow evil didn't cross his mind (maybe it was for the best, considering what later on happened).

"- Wha- What happened?"

"- You, little girl, are a witch."

"- Oh; I knew that."

"- Did your parents tell?"

"- Nnno. It is just something I know."

"- Smart girl."

"- Thank you."

Missis Granger walked in, hands trembling slightly. She put the tray of tea on the coffee table and smiled hesitantly. She poured some tea in three cups, handed a glass of home made strawberry juice to Hermione.

"- O-kaaaay. What happens next?"

" How old are you, Miss Granger?"

"- Seven years old. Eight in September."

"- Oh in four, or in your case, five years, you will go to a school, a wizarding school called Hogwarts. There you will live amongst other magical children like you. It's divided in four houses, Gryffindor is the best, and if you are a good student, you might become a prefect, and later, maybe even Head Boy. Or Head Girl, seeing your gender. My eldest son happens to be Head Boy. Received the letter from Hogwarts today!"

Arthur managed to twist the whole conversation, so the three adults talked about their children. Hermione was bored, yet too polite to leave the room. Arthur saw the warning signs of some serious whining. He showed his hand in his robe pocket and searched for some candy. Finding a home made toffee; he drew out his hand from his robe, letting a smaller picture of his son fall from his pocket.

Hermione thanked for the toffee and took the picture and scrutinized it closely. It represented a boy, a teenager boy, with shaggy red hair, blue laughing eyes and a very freckled face. The picture boy waved to her.

Another flash consumed her from inside again, this time slowly making its way to her blood. The boy's hair had melted behind her eyelids, and now slowly invaded her system, nearing her heart.

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Yes, yes, wierd ending, yes. I'll update soon, pinky swear promise. ( Send me a mail or a review if you're interesed, Heart Corruption).


	8. Chapter 7

**VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE!**

I've got now twenty reviews! You are adorable people. Therefore, I want to know you all. You lighten up my day; let me somehow help you in return. Besides, I am someone very snobbish; I want to know you so I can refer to you in conversations

Bill centred chapter. I actually wanted to introduce Bill's point of view and all his handlings after in the end, yet there are some scenes that I have to put in now.

Short chapter. Hoorah! Learn people that a short chapter means quicker updates! Hozzah!

Holly20: I'm glad they updated the files too. Thank you for your review. Whose C. Warrington, by the way?

Lovelie: Thank you so much! Your wishes are my demand! New chapter.

Hearts Corrutpion: You have no idea about how powerful she is going to be.

Alya3baby: Voilà Update!

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Hermione sighed gently and kicked the air with her small feet. Her skin was brown, sun kissed and slightly reddish. Her hair was still bushy, and damp with perspiration, brown and golden under the sun. The grass she was lying on was green, somehow dry, not refreshing and it prickled her skin through her thin, yellow summer dress. It was a hot summer day, ideal to watch TV or for eating ice-cream. But Hermione didn't like TV and her parents refused to let her eat ice-cream all day long.

Hermione was bored. Her head was resting ob a book. The sky was blue, a very fake sort of blue, too bright to be real. Hermione hated that colour; it was plain and ugly. But then again, she thought everything was ugly and rotten these past times.

She hadn't felt one single red flash or tingle since almost five years. It was driving her slowly, yet very surely, crazy. Nothing managed to make her feel meaningful. She had tried to trigger herself the red shots, by breaking her arm twice. She watched violent movies, read dark literature, and even provoked people to aggress her. Nothing happened. She was disgusted with herself.

Hermione closed her eyes and decided to sleep. Her dreams were always red. Only this time it wasn't her usually strong red; this time, she saw endless hills of red sand. She felt a presence behind her. She knew the person; she knew who it was; a name was about to cross her lips. And just as she was about to turn around to talk to the person, a red flash invaded her so hard this time she fainted herself awake.

She was disappointed. But also victorious. She had had enough time to see one thing. One thing only maybe, but it was enough: a scar.

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Something odd was happening to Bill Weasly. He was in Egypt for the first time of his life, glad his intense studying the past four years finally paid off. He had been less than seven months at Gringrotts and already they were sending him abroad. He was happy, his mind finally clean from other thoughts.

The sky was red, as the sand underneath his feet. He felt an odd pulsation, a pulsation he hadn't felt in many years. His scar was throbbing again. Bill smiled; she was finally back. His heart bumped a bit faster in his ribcage and he felt the insane lust to scream out under the sky.

Bill slowly passed his fingers through his hair. He felt her again. Somewhere, very near him, she was lingering. It exasperated him not to know why she was there. Her invisible presence was a stubborn silence, a silent promise for laughter and love. Yet she was never there. Silence was her way of making a mind numbing noise.

He missed and yearned for someone he had never met or seen. It was strange. He had heard the first time her laugh the time he had crossed the Hogwarts gates. It had been a pretty laugh, a sound resonating in his head. When he stepped under the Sorting Hat, he had felt slight shock in his heart. His heart had beaten quickly, and he felt an urge of roaring. The Sorting Hat had felt that urge and sorted him into that House that would give him the opportunity to roar: Gryffindor.

But for now, Bill had to settle himself with her absence. Her presence had been so vibrant that one summer day; he remembered how happy he had been then. It was like she congratulated him on being Head Boy. She had been a touch away. He had felt her hand trail around her face; outline the silhouette of his body. But after that, nothing. He didn't feel her until now.

He smiled. This was a sign: he would find her here. He would; he sure about that.

And in a way he did meet her. He saw her the first time the way she had seen him: on a photograph.

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Review. Please? 


	9. Wands and Wonders

**Chapter Eight: Wands and Wonders. **

Hermione couldn't help but bounce of excitement. She was _finally_ going to her school. But it was more than just that; this was her destiny.

Her parents had threatened her with the respect and honour that would have been bestowed on a young virgin sacrifice. Her mum brought her new cloths, some used just for a half day before being safely locked away in her trunk.

When they went shopping for her wand and other things, they walked into Diagon Alley with pride, head held up high, following a young woman who was suppose to show them around so they wouldn't get lost.

As they walked to Ollivander's Wand shop, Hermione planted her eyes on the vendor who rushed to her straightaway, already a box in his hand. Hermione shook her head already by the sight of it. It was light wood, whitish and plain.

"- Ex-excuse me Miss… have you already brought a wand?"

Hermione held the eye contact the old man had started. He blinked first but Hermione was the first one to shake her head. She felt flattered somehow, but it was also a very natural feeling to her: she truly belonged here.

Hermione had an immense feeling of satisfaction. Everything was going her way. The flashes were rare, but still present, surprising her during important moments, thus registering everything better. Her flashes had slightly changed: they were a hazy picture of her dream: a red ground and red dunes under a yellow, scorching sun.

She walked around the shop and noticed in the corner of her eye a box. This was no big deal: the whole walls of the shops were filled with boxes. But this one protruded slightly out; but it was more interesting because it was red. Not red-red, but more of a used red. As Hermione walked towards the shelf, she saw how her parents walked near her, her mother frowning, her father smiling.

Slowly her hand extended out, and took the box with her fingers. She slowly pulled out the box. The shopkeeper wasn't obviously very happy about it, but didn't do anything else than just frown.

The box was a bit different than the other ones. This one was made out of some very soft fabric that had been maroon some years ago. One of the sides of the box was reddish now because of its exposure in the sun.

Hermione slowly pulled the thin cord that was around the box and wrapped it around her wrist before taking off the lid. The movement was very simple yet elegant. Hermione felt very at peace, feeling she was doing something very important. And Hermione knew the importance of small things. This one was to be done with extreme delicacy and seriousness.

As Hermione was opening the lid, Viveca had to keep herself from jumping on Hermione and hit away the wand from her hands. Just now she understood how concrete everything was: Hermione will disappear from their lives. Not permanently, but periodically, and this scared her even more. Viveca knew that after a while, she would get used to Hermione not being there. Hermione wasn't just her daughter: she was her dream as well.

Viveca just shuddered and whimpered inwardly as she saw her daughter take in her hands her power. They all felt the crackle of energy that had flown from her hands.

Nicholas was very happy, but a bit worried as well. He was glad that his daughter (yes- his daughter; he could accept his past now and assimilate her as is own) was about to follow in the steps of those that loved her before she knew them.

The thing that bothered him was… boys. Hideous boys, ugly things. He felt very depressed at the thought that he couldn't lynch each boy that would even come in a two mile radius near her. With the responsibility of accepting Hermione as his, he felt a large weight on his heart. But he always comforted himself by thinking that she had the power of her parents in her. Jane had had power; how else could she have shot her husband?

Meanwhile, Hermione twirled the wand in her hand, laughing in wonder and amazement, sending bubbles out from the tip of the wood. Each time one of the bubbles exploded, a little crystal like noise was heard.

"- Vine wood, dragon heart's core. Very powerful…. Strange though; usually men have similar, dark wands."

Hermione turned then around and winked to Ollivanders. He too felt the power urge through her and noticed the gleam of her eye. She looked a bit like one of those woman Aurors who just knew how to deal with things.

The old man straightened slightly and took a closer look on the wand. It was quite old, surely a good decade old, surely even older, judging by the look of the box. He did make the wands mostly himself, but some of them just _made themselves_.

To make a wand was per se not very difficult: you needed a powerful tree and various magical products. You stripped the tree from its branches and let the wood dry. Because of its magical properties, the wood will fall in neat pieces of different sizes. Then you took the pieces of wood and dipped them in the different magical ingredients around you. The wood searched for the energy it needed to become active. Once the wood and ingredient had chosen each other, you dipped them in a solution made out of bark, honey and something else (ingredients changed following the seasons). Then the wood and ingredient became one. You took out from the solution, cleaned it, waxed it and prepared a little support for the hand with fabric or remaining bark or branches of the same wood.

But like said, some wands just made themselves. The vine tree that had been used for this wand had been digged up with its roots still on. Usually you didn't dig up the roots; if you left them on place, a new tree could grow, often more powerful than the older one. But the vine tree had been so many times re-grown, it wasn't healthy. Therefore the roots were also there; roots were the most powerful part of the tree.

Ollivander sawn off the roots and left them in a corner, deciding not to make a wand out of it. The war was still around, and an all too powerful wand might be more than a bit dangerous in the wrong hands. But the tree had decided otherwise. As the trunk and the branches were being stocked to dry, He just felt the creepy sensation of pure forest magic. The tree was dying and was trying to create a last life before dying miserably.

He didn't do anything, he didn't even turn around as he heard the gnawing sound the tree was making. The sound was quite scaring, reminding one of broken bones and exploding stones. As finally the tension settled, he turned around and saw the last portion of magic every done by that tree.

It was a wand alright; it was standing out straight from the part he had just sawn off. It poked out like a flag pole; the wood was dark, with red glints in it. It seemed to tremble gently and Ollivander slowly approached it, timidly extending his hand, as if the wand was a very hungry animal who thought he had a striking resemblance to a steak.

The wand had fallen before he had time to come even near it. It had bounced on the floor several times before jumping in the air and landing straight in the pot containing Dragon Heart Cores. It had rolled over the fresh ones dragon hearts and settled for one which Ollivander had first mistaken for an old dried prune.

The wood and 'prune' had turned and twisted and he had quickly dropped them into the bark-honey-something else solution. That year it had happened to be mimosa flowers, nettles and ice; it was obviously an odd summer mix.

The wand had marinated some time in the solution. Finally when it was ready, it was a beauty. Different, yet somehow plain. He didn't dare to create a hand supporter for it, so instead he put the end of the wand in a mollifying solution and quickly and delicately twisted the end of the wand so it would be easy to take it in hand.

Then he hid it quickly in a plain wand box and stuffed it on purpose to the wrong wand section. The shop was divided in several sections, according to the power and composites of the wand. He hid it in the 'beginners' section where usually children who left for Hogwarts or some other wizarding school chose their wands. Good for beginners, good control of power.

This wand was unpredictable and dangerous if well used; therefore Ollivanders hid it in the weaker section of wands. More than once he had been robbed by Death eaters. They always grabbed the powerful wands, so now he hid them. He hid them well.

He had forgot that wand; you have the tendency to that when becoming older.

Now the wand was found, and he knew, like the girl and her parents knew, that that little girl knew just how powerful she was. And she will use the wands potential as well as she could.

The thing that made him wonder was the bubbles that had appeard out of the wand. It wasn't normal; the wand hadn't anything to do with water, much less with musical bubbles.

To make wands is not the only thing a wandmaker is suppose to know; each wand held a key to a future, and the first signs with that wand were usually prophetic for the person. Musical bubbles from a fire creature's wand could only mean one thing: unnatural and wonderful things will happen to the girl.

It was a dumb thing of him not to tell her parents this. At least they could have been prepared to what Hermione will bring them.


	10. Hermione & the Hogwarts Express

**UPDATE! Praise the LORD or whatever other divinty or ugly statuette you are whorshipping!**

**Chapter Nine: Hermione and Hogwarts.**

Hermione sighed as she took a thick strand of her bushy hair and pulled it behind her ear. She was bored and tried not to scream out in frustration.

She was in Hogwarts now, the place she _thought _she belonged too. She realized soon it wasn't the magical happy place it was supposed to be. No, - here, it was worse than school before, because didn't have friends nor could she use her magic to scare people away.

It was morning and Hermione had been in school for some two weeks now. She was awake before anyone else and rummaged through her trunk to fish up some cloths for herself.

The true reason why she was so bloody über-nervous was because of what had happened to her on the train ride to school.

The train ride had been quite eventful. Her parents had brought her to the station and on instinct, he had known what to do (she also had noticed the dark skinned girl dragging an owl cage with her and a boy who was discreetly making his many suitcases float over the floor whilst combing his hair).

Hermione was early, yet as they passed the barrier, there were so many people they had to hold hands so they wouldn't get lost. She had tried to hold onto her mother's hand, but it had been sweaty and Hermione had felt it slip away from her grasp.

So now she had been in the middle of the train station, alone. Her little heart had started to beat faster as she felt some odd nostalgia for the place. But mostly, she felt very uncomfortable. She was going to give up everything, she knew for this! It felt intimidating and somehow wrong. Hermione was scared and just wanted to return home.

Someone dumped violently against her, so she had to walk away from the entrance to the hidden train station. Hermione decided to search for her parents, somehow feeling something stronger than the power inside of her. She yearned for a bit of comfort.

But just as she thought this, she felt a tug. A very slim, unsure tug. Hermione slowly turned around and saw nothing but a mass of people moving safely away from a trolley pushed by two red-headed boys. She felt a slight tingling, something was telling her to go towards them and say something.

But just as Hermione was to take her first step, she felt a heavy grip on her arm. Her father had found her. As soon as she felt her father's presence, all insecurity vanished. Her new mission was to find those boys, find the tug, find the feeling of life she had lost.

Hermione was on the train now. Her parents had put her in a wagon containing two other girls, one her age, another one who was a bit older before kissing her good-bye. Viveca watched her daughter, who without even knowing it looked strong and proud, shining like stainless steel, decided and determined to get what she wanted. Her head was posed in a defiant angle and her parents knew they lost her now.

Nicolas was proud and solemn. He approached his daughter slowly and took her in his arms for the last time. Now she had to embrace her real heritage, now she was different from them, from now on they couldn't help her. It was as if his daughter would have started in a school where she would talk a foreign language and even if she needed help she couldn't get it from them since they didn't understand it.

Yes,- now, Hermione had to assume herself.

" Hermione, follow your instincts!"

" Hermione, listen with your heart."

With these wise pieces of advice, Nicolas and Viveca turned around and made their way out of Hermione's world to theirs.

So now Hermione was on the train. The others girls smiled to her nervously as her eyes trailed quickly over them before she nodded.

The younger girl had thick hair, a round face that shone of innocence and was slightly shorter than Hermione. She wore a yellow summer dress and pigtails. She seemed nice, thought Hermione, but she also seems kind of soft and malleable.

"You're new, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded.

"I'm a Third year, in Gryffindor. My name is Stella Fantansia."

"I am Susan Bones."

Just when Hermione was about to answer she felt the odd tug again. She turned her head, the window was open, a mother was scolding her daughter. Slowly, she approached the window. The tug became stronger.

" Excuse us! Hello Stella, mind if we use your window?"

" Hello George, hello Fred, be our guests."

Hermione stepped slightly aside and the two boys she had seen earlier with the trolley stuck out their heads to talk to the mother and the little girl. Now the tug was a low beat, a slight irritation to her senses. It was as if she had known these people for too long and just she wanted to avoid them, they popped up.

But Hermione decided to stay to watch the family. She didn't really listen to the dialogue going on between the family members. There were laughs, scoffs and Hermione feet like she did belong to that world, the one of siblings.

The train started moving, the boys waved off their sister. They finally closed the window and turned around to observe the other occupants of the cabin.

" Aah, new faces!"

" Ickle, first years"

"I'm Hermione Granger and no offence but I'm almost as tall as you are!"

This wasn't exactly true: Hermione was good ten centimetres shorter than both of the boys yet she was imposing. It was clear that she wouldn't let anyone try to patronize her.

The two boys smiled.

"You're cheating though" one of the boys said and pointed at her hair.

Hermione smiled.

"I am Fred Weasly."

"I am George Weasly, not in any way related to Percy Weasly, the prefect."

"Or Ronald Weasly."

Stella shook her head.

"Don't listen to them."

Hermione nodded. The two boys made her smile. Twins. Fred and George Weasley. Ronald Weasly. Percy Weasley.

Stella turned to the two boys and inquired about the rest of their family. Hermione found out that they had two more brothers and a little sister, Ginny, who she saw on the train station. The boys started to rummage through an old leather satchel and took out a set of photographs.

"Bill sent us pictures from Egypt!"

Suddenly Hermione felt how sun invaded her mind and excused herself. She tried to get out, but stumbled on her bad, rammed into one of the twins who bumped into the other one who sent the pictures flying. The trio fell almost out of the cabin if it hadn't been for a poor boy that was walking nearby, clutching a frog in his hands.

" I'm sorry"

" Are you alright?" asked Susan.

" No harm done."

Hermione just smiled, not feeling a bit embarrassed. A boy with dreadlocks walked in and laughed at the foursome, holding a little box in his hand.

"- Hermione, meet our friend Lee, Lee meet Hermione-the-first-year who has already fallen for my good looks."

Everyone smiled expect for Susan and Lee who produced both a very bark-like laugh. Hermione moved away from the boy's embrace and the other twin helped the blonde boy.

"You're a first year too, yes?"

" Neville Longbottom."

Hermione stepped back to let the boy in and stepped aside to let the boy in. She bent down and picked up the pictures she let fall on the ground. But as soon as she touched the surface, her skin felt warm, her mouth was dry and her eyes felt gluey.

At that precise moment, on another continent, Bill Weasly who was digging in the sun felt cool, refreshed and smelt the dusty, wunderbaumy smell of the red train that used to bring him to school.


	11. Chapter 11: Sequnces of their lives

Off we go to chapter 11!

Oh, Harry! Oh Ron! Oh, more connexions!

Because of popular demand, I update quickly ( just finished typing, so excuse the eventual error)

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**Chapter 11: Sequences of their lives.**

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How could she?

How could she cry over such a stupid boy?

Hermione was sitting in the girl's bathroom, her knees drawn up to her chest, trying to get control of herself. But she couldn't stop feeling so insecure and stupid and most of all, used. Well, no, not used, but sick of waiting for something that simply didn't want to happen. Things didn't happen like they promised to her they would happen.

Something deep inside her had guaranteed her life from now on would be easier, that things will get better.

But they didn't!

They simply didn't!

She had been here now two months and had no friends, just classmates. No one invited her to conversations or games. They asked her what class they had next and what time it was, but never is she wanted to sit next to them at lunch.

So she sat next to Percy who was a figure of power therefore of comfort to her. In class, she always came in last in the classroom in hope to sit next to someone, but the only places free were in front, far away from _them_.

The twins also talked to her, mostly throwing a hastily greeting or a smile between classes or from the other corner of the common room where she always was alone. Well, there was Neville who talked to her and she liked Stella and she knew vaguely Dean (actually he knew his sisters) from before.

The girls from her dorm were really nice. But none of them was who she wanted to be with. She wanted more, therefore she looked down on the company that was propositioned to her.

She wanted recognition from them. No, not them, but she wanted Ronald Weasley to notice her.

"Well, he did notice me"

But he wasn't supposed to laugh at her!

He wasn't supposed to get so easily her to cry!

But why, why did she cry so much?

Because it hurt. Because she was so, so disappointed.

Hermione had known, had felt the jolt, had felt the pleasant feeling all over her body when she had met that red headed boy. He had to be connected with it! He had to! Each time she felt it he was somewhere around. He had to some something, anything, to do with her!

Someone who could bring her such joy couldn't be bad, now could he?

Yes, yes he could. He was cruel to her tender heart she wore expectantly on her face as she met him. He was supposed to watch her and she wanted a secret code, a secret sign trhey could communicate through a singly look.

But no, she got insulted, pulled in the mud instead!

How could she have trusted herself to such an utter idiot?

Because something told her it made sense. Now that part admitted that it eventually was idiotic, therefore Hermione was in near psychosis: How could she have betrayed herself?

How? And for whom? A stupid, stupid boy!

Hermione tried to calm herself. She really tried to, but she simply couldn't.

She had never been wrong before in her life!

The tears kept on slowly gliding down her cheeks and messed up her lashes. For now, she'll cry. Then, later, she'll try to figure things out. A bit later, but not now.

CUT!

Bill was feeling feverish. He wanted to throw up, or eat the sand that was surrounding him or gnawing on his wand (something one should never EVER do). His head was spinning around and his balance was lost and he simply couldn't breath.

He had never felt this ill before. It was not a sickness, it was something else, something that would cause you to take the first object you'll find and try to relief the pain with it. For now, Bill had settled to jump violently against the walls of the small room he was occupying, causing pain on purpose to distract him.

How could he feel this bad? How could he feel this ill and helpless? What was wrong with him?

He winced as his hip lodged itself in a corner of a heavy wooden table. An orange, some parchment and his bag fell from it. The bag spewed up its contents and Bill bent down to collect the various objects.

There was paper, a cheap paperback, an old book, letters from his parents, various small Egyptian objects, change, tea bags, dried mint, a handkerchief filled with ice and a box found a month earlier. The box looked like a misshapen box made out of some odd substance. It was speculated it was a mix of stone and wood, but the clump didn't fit exactly the theory.

Bill, being the one to notice the little arrow in its side, figured out it was some object concealing something else. They had X-rayed the box, which had given very hazy pictures but there has something inside it.

The object was given to Bill to study for a couple of days since every one else couldn't stand the sight of it (the brainstorming session to understand what it was had given everyone a migraine).

So now the object had been trusted to him. But as soon as he had came back to the room he lived in at the archaeological library, he had become restless.

Restless and ill and worried for something.

¨Then he felt it –CUT!

Hermione cried and didn't care for who heard her. She had no substance anymore and it was good so.

CUT!

At the same moment, a troll thumped into the castle.

CUT!

Bill felt as if his head was going to explode. His hands found blindly the handkerchief with the ice he used to cool off his skin with during diggings.

He pressed it hard against his neck.

CUT!

Hermione's eyes flew open, feeling something very cold against her neck. She looked up and opened her mouth in horror.

She turned slowly her head and heard a click.

The troll's face looked questioning for a moment. Then it turned around. Hermione pressed her hands against her mouth.

CUT!

Bill was coughing on the floor, panic dancing in dark spots in front of his eyes. His hand clawed the floor, ripping through what it found, breaking his nails, punishing his fingertips.

CUT!

Harry felt cold, objective horror rise in him.

CUT!

The troll noticed the girl. Hermione felt suddenly anger. HOE DARED THAT TROLL INVADE HER PRIVACY!

He kicked open the door of her cubicle, walked out and gave him a look that made it clear that he was in trouble.

How could a girl who was not even half the height of a dangerous troll be so menacing?

Feeling threatened, the troll swung his club and single handily destroyed all the toilet cubicles. This took a rather big effort from the part of the troll who grunted still, feeling unsafe and nervous because of the girl.

To protect herself from the splinters, Hermione ducked under a sink for safety and for planning out her tactic to get out this situation.

CUT!

Bill suddenly felt a bit better. The ice was melting now in the heat of the room, mixing into the mass of shredded paper, mint, dust and blood. It felt soothing in a purely masochistic way.

But just as he had felt relieved, his arm started to cramp, sending jolts of pain up to his neck that stiffened. Bill started panting, trying to gulp in air. His arm moved around spasmodically and grabbed into something hard.

CUT!

Hermione watched as the club that moments earlier had broken the thin mastic walls of the toilets fall clumsily on the head of its owner.

Her eyes took in the scene, her mind critical towards her saviours. Why the hell did they think she needed them now, just when she decided to give up on them?

The two boys, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley looked at her with big eyes and suddenly the part of Hermione she had been ignoring came massively back to her.

The feeling of despair, of need, of longing she felt took her so quickly, so strongly she couldn't help but to tremble and wipe her face in the dusty sleeve of her robe.

Silly me, she thought, why did I ever doubt myself?

CUT!

Relief surged into his system. Soothing, calm, and cool words travelled up his spine into his body, his convulsing calming down, his aches banished away like a bad memory. He felt as if suddenly his body was very ancient and didn't see the point of taking the pain, but to observe it instead.

His body was dust now, nothing else, something belonging to someone else.

His hand opened up and the object he had in his hand dropped on the floor, broken.

Bill's hand, smudged in specks of ice, mint leaves and something dusty and crumbly slowly came to his face to cup it.

And then he felt it again -CUT!

He saw his brother. He saw his brother, saw a short boy with round glasses, he saw McGonagall. He saw broken glass; he smelt a foul smell of something rotten. But mostly of all, he felt. He felt the skirt he was wearing, the elastic waistband of the underwear and the softness of his small breasts becoming too heavy to be free under a shirt without a bra. He felt hair caressing his skin; he sensed anger and saw the fear in the eyes of his brother.

He opened his mouth to defend his brother, but when he articulated, other words came out. The idea was there but formulated impersonally, without his intake in it.

CUT!

When Hermione Granger walked through the portrait to the Gryffindor common room, Ron felt a strong sense of trust and confidence emanating from the girl.

It felt as if she knew him since forever.

CUT!

Next afternoon, Bill was found smiling, his hands oddly misshapen, his face oddly broken, with scars like the webs made by porcelain cracking on his face.

In his hand, there was ice, mint and mimosas.

The clump had opened, and the room was now already half covered under the yellow flowers. The flowers were growing thick in front of the door, making it difficult to walk towards the man who needed medical help although no one could ever recall seeing him this happy.


	12. Chapter 12: Christmas kiss

To answer some questions:

Yes, I will continue to follow very closely JKR's books, but I'll twist them in my way and there are of course scenes that will not be in the original books written down here.

I am going to go on faster with the plot and the story. The original story line from the books would be the same but I'll jump quite a lot of important events.

If you are going to review, please give me something constructive, nothing à la:

"The French Government announced today that it is enforcing a ban on the use of fireworks at Disneyland Paris. The decision comes the day after a nightly fireworks display at the park, located just 30 miles outside of Paris, caused soldiers at a nearby French army garrison to surrender to a group of Czech tourists."

Thank you.

(Although that was darn funny)

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Chapter 12.

Niffe Silverstraw was a forty year old man with a much younger wife and was in charge for the diggings of a recently found tomb. He needed cheap labour force and contacted the Kairo Magical University to get some inters to help him. They sent him seven of their second year pupils, three girls and four boys, the crème of the crème, their star pupils.

They were excited about the prospect of exploring the tomb and were more than a bit upset to find out their sole job was to clean up the already open chambers. One of them however didn't seem to find the work boring.

No, Bill didn't find it boring,- he found it abject. He hated the cleaning and made his part of the work as quickly as possible to have time to make research by himself in the tomb.

The tomb was something new and utterly different from the other temples found around. It wasn't a mausoleum and was oddly enough very well hidden. It had been found purely by coincidence and opened up a whole band of unanswered questions.

The area where it was found was next to an ancient construction place, or so it was assumed. The bases of a pyramid that had never been done to the end were nearby and by the size of the habitation and they're poor quality, it looked like poor people had lived there.

But there came in the problem. Unlike popular belief, pyramids weren't constructed by slaves. They were done by competent, hard working, highly trained men. The villages around the construction sites had everything the men wanted and food was provided to their families who lived next to them.

The constructions that had been found were very rustic, with the bare needs installed in them. They looked like temporal habitats. It was assumed another set of people had come to help construct the pyramid but had never made it so far.

The temple had been found next to these houses, under its level of earth.

Could it have been possible people had tried to dig down the temple?

The temple had had some residue of a garden hidden in it and was constructed in an all too simple and obvious way. There were no obvious signs of magic, but there was odd hieroglyphs suggesting nothing good.

The one's exploring the chambers had found odd and grotesque paintings of creatures. The temple could be some kind of unknown pagan cult, but the odd objects of unknown texture that were found suggested something else.

Suddenly, the tomb had become potentially very dangerous and everyone studied it very carefully.

No accidents had happened, apart from some usual accidents that always happened (sprained ankles, inhaling of earthy gases, scorpion bites, terrible hangovers resulted over the presence of cheap liquor, etc…).

The interns, after they've cleaned up all the safe areas, were assigned in a different group to either continue on the diggings of the temple or had to analyze the material already found.

Bill Weasly was sent in the first group and found nothing but the odd box. He had found it by coincidence, stumbling in the dark, grabbing onto something for support, fell and a brick landed on his head.

He had pocketed it without further thinking and continued on walking after the group. Only later on, when he has assigned to the analysing team he remembered it. Since it was the first object that actually had some purpose, it was the focal point for the scientists for some time before they concentrated again on the diggings.

In the end the object was tossed away, taken back by Bill and then forgotten.

Until they found him in his room, after he hadn't given sign of life during two days. The remains of the box were crammed up together and re-studied carefully whilst Bill was sent to a special medical ward to treat any secondary effects of his seizure.

Bill, on the other hand, was perfectly fine. He had never felt better before actually. No, he had felt like this before. His fingers slowly traced the contours of his mouth and he smiled. He blew out slowly out the kiss towards the sky, hoping it will go to someone who wants it.

He opened his fingers and he smiled at the sun.

CUT!

As Hermione walked up her home street, following her father who dragged her trunk, she watched the buildings in awe. She watched the different styles of the houses, smiling at them.

She passed her hands in her coat's pocket and suddenly-

CUT!

Let's have a short introduction to psychology, more specifically to psychoanalysis.

Freud has come up with a way to explain our mind: it's divided in conscious, unconscious, preconscious states of mind or as he call it the ego, the super-ego and the id. Those familiar with these concepts can move on a bit.

Those unfamiliar with it shall have a short description of what these concepts are:

Imagine a tree.

A young plant that hatched recently out of a seed.

Let's take the oak tree. The gland had the form of an oval, and the nut itself is pale brown, tastes bitter and most interestingly of all, looks like a brain. This gland is surrounded by a hard, dark brown shell that protects it from birds.

When the seed starts to grow, it breaks the hard membrane protecting the gland and sets its roots loose to seek for food. When it has enough nourishment, the trunk of the very young tree starts to grow and eventually leaves start to appear.

Now you have to see this tree in your mind.

So there are the leaves, the trunk and the roots. The leaves are the super-ego, the trunk the ego and the roots the id.

The super-ego is what we dream of being.

The trunk is what we are and how we perceive our world.

The roots are our primitive urges.

Id is hunger, sex and rage.

They are the id, our subconscious; it only comes alive in our dreams. It's our sick, disgusting, wrong side, the ones where we aren't human, but blind animals, searching and sucking up substance, like mosquitoes.

Mosquitoes are interesting animals. They are basically blind but they have an incredible sense of finding where to eat. So works this subconscious id. It sucks up what it needs all by itself.

Our id isn't the most active part of our mind. It is there of course, sucking up what it needs but we don't really pay attention to it. At least most of the time. Our ego often censures a great deal of our dreams.

Now, take Hermione.

She's a girl of 12 but at this age she already had a mind more complicated and abstract than someone that would have been ill with schizophrenia most of their lives. Fortunately, Hermione was also blessed with a common sense above the norm. She knew when to shut her trap.

But she also knew how to listen to herself.

This is how she saw her brain. It was a young oak plant.

The leaves were her conscious thoughts, the ones she had right now at this precise moment. They change fast and far from everything is remembered. In fact, she forgot these faster than she remembered. It is impossible to remember everything what has happened, Hermione was no exception.

The trunk is her inner thoughts, still conscious ones, that go deeper, that marked her and left a print on her. Her brain perceived it as important. Knowledge went mostly into this category.

Now comes the interesting part: the roots.

Roots dig deep into the earth, searching and reaching out for what it needs blindly. You can pull roots; they will snap and keep their untold secrets to themselves. If you are a bit smarter, you dig the earth and follow the roots. But that will last a long time and even then minor pieces are going to be snapped off.

But Hermione was cleverer than that. She reached out, blindly, after what she sought, not thinking, not even stopping to consider why she did it. She needed it, it justified it all.

Not doubting was necessary, because when she got a response –

CUT!

Her wrist felt the fabric, her palm felt thin paper, her heart felt another pound and her chin felt the soft, unfamiliar touch of something wonderful.

She opened her eyes and saw the sun.

Her hand came out from her pocket and in it was a picture. A thin layer of paper, a photograph.

Who was on it?

A group of people, sand, sun, shadows, dust and a building in the background, buried. There was an elderly man, holding a girl by the arm, obviously examining it. The girl who had dark skin and dyed red hair tried to hide her face from the camera in obvious annoyance at the photographer. Two men, one of them with black hair hold back in a pony tail and an older man with brown skin, both holding a map and pointing at it, sometimes turning around to watch the ruins behind them. A woman deposited food on a table.

" Show yourself."

At that precise moment, a finger appeared on the picture, much like those one gets by putting a finger on the lens when taking a picture.

" Thank you"

Hermione kissed it gently.

She smiled to her parents and walked head-strongly in. Her parents felt pride then, pride like little people can feel. She was strong and beautiful and most of all, she was there and she looked like she finally belonged somewhere.


End file.
